A loose, welcoming, forgiving, friendly society. One that does not use money. No debt, no interest/usury. Just good will flowing freely.
Christmas is a crushing holiday. It's like a giant crushing hammer that flattens the world.
I've never liked any of the holidays. I only like all the days between the holidays. When any official festivity approaches, including my own birthday, I get nervous. These "holy" days are like tests or trials. I want them to go away. I wonder why we inflict them upon ourselves: they're all manmade, and we could stop observing all of them anytime. Make new ones, if we desire.
We could also stop using money, any time; and stop playing the cruel game of debt and interest/usury. People instituted these traditions long before I was born. I wish we would all choose to ruin the world differently. I grasp how money & debt choke civilization: I can read history. I'm bored with this fashion of destruction. When will the rest of humans grow bored of it too? I fear that they'll never stop wanting to play the game of barbarism.
God, what wretched traditions the previous generations strapped us with. Marriage. Religion (as opposed to wild, free-wandering poetry). Law, courts, jail, etc. The stuffy game of private property. Advertising, marketing. Pets, zoos. The only thing that I like is the library.
But even more than I dislike all the traditions that we postmodern humans have inherited, I dislike being a whining, complaining jerk; so let me try to get in the Christmas spirit... I don't know what to do except push around some of its concepts (like a child who does not want to eat the meal that has been set before him will push the food around on his plate with his fork disconsolately); maybe it'll help me work up an appetite...
Nativity scenes: I like those. I like the stars, whether real or fake: I like that the babe-worshiping magi were guided by stars. (Who uses the zodiac to navigate nowadays! I myself trust the voice of the lady in my motorcycle's radiator: she tells me "turn left" and I do; then she sez "You've arrived at your destination," and I notice there's an harlot at the side of the road.) I prefer fake snow. I enjoy seeing the statues of Joseph and Mary and Moses that people position in their yard. I like Rudolph the reindeer and his glowing red nose. (Hey, I just thought of a joke: The only thing better than Rudolph's glowing red nose is Blitzer's glowing red yesses.) Snowmen. Candy canes. Stockings. Angels.
I like presents that are giftwrapped, cuz they contain unsolved mysteries. I like the look of wrapping paper, and I like to tear wrapping paper away from its gift. Then I like to pretend that I'm not let down when I see what the gift is.
My mood is improving. I'm now thinking of ice-skating rinks. I'm imagining that I have just won the Winter Olympics by doing a figure-skating routine with my true love (the aforementioned harlot). I leaped up and held my skating partner by her waist as we twirled multiple times in the air and then landed with perfection. (I never botch the landing; for I skate drunk.) The judges award us high ratings. The orchestra plays the theme song for Bryan-Land (that's my home country: I'm its dictator, Bryan Ray), as we finalists pose with our medals. (You & I got the gold.)
Now I imagine living out west in California, in the olden days, before it was ever named California. I'm hanging out with very old men. We built a wooden shack for ourselves to sleep in at night, so that the coyotes don't lick us.
Now I'm imagining beating the pulp out of Gabriel, the Demiurge's archangel. I'm not totally against angels, but I hate these top-dog Nazis who kiss up to the Bigwig on his throne. Nevertheless, I do enjoy singing "Holy, holy, holy" to the Bigwig. I love anything that involves communal participation, up here in heaven. I like to join in on the fun.
I like the military, the heavenly host ("host" in this case meaning "army"). Our sergeant, Yahweh Sabaoth ("the LORD of Hosts"), commands us to descend to Earth and report back on whatever new strongholds our foreign neighbors, the humans, have been constructing. It turns out to be the Tower of Babel. (Genesis 11:1-9.)
I like the stiff routines that we must perform every morning, as Christian soldiers in God's great army: March back & forth... now clean your firearm... now curse the Devil. Use the foulest words you know.
I also love Santa Claus. The jolly fat man in the red-&-white suit who lives in a mud hut at the North Pole and delivers gifts to all the children of the world via his sleigh that's pulled by underage reindeer.
People misconstrue Santa's relation to Christmas. He's not a bad guy. He's not trying to steal the holiday from Jesus. Old Saint Nick (his birth certificate reads "Nicholas Claus") is actually a practicing Christian. His method of operation is to enter each home by its chimney so as to distribute tracts that explain the Apostle Paul's gospel. The top prayer that Mister Claus shouts during his campaign rallies is that children should receive a good education. And he also wants parents to trust in Yahweh's covenant. He has an yuge bag that he carries everywhere and which is filled with giftwrapped luxuries. A brand-new videocassette player, still in its original box, is just one example of what the man might offer you for your kindness, after you strike up a conversation with him while he's looking in your refrigerator. He's always hoping to find more eggnog.
In conclusion, the symbolical meaning of the Christmas tree is that the Son of God possesses everlasting life. That's why the mythmakers chose an evergreen: it never withers: its needle-like leaves last straight thru the winter. (Winter symbolizes death.) So go out and find a nice, robust, cone-shaped tree in the snow; chop it down, and display it in your home (if you have a home), and cover its nakedness with tinsel. Or buy a plastic tree: they last longer.
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